The Daunting Truth

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The Daunting Truth is a work of fiction, names, characters, places, and events are a figment of the author’s imagination. All resemblances and events are entirely coincidental!

To my husband: For all the years of standing by me!

Prologue

London, 1812

She gaped from her deathly position at the end of the Duke’s bed, grimacing, face pale and drooping. Her heart calling out to him. No sounds, just the eerie semblance, her long arms extended, as if she longed to touch him and couldn’t.

His breath quickened, fast and short as he raised his arms to touch her thick, black cloak. Her shadowy figure cold as ice. He gasped. His hands passed through her impenetrable silhouette, and with the diabolic ambiance, her image dissolved, as he sprung forward. He tried to scream but could not. There was nothing but silent angst.

Help, he thought.

His voice would not flow. And, there was no help to come…

1

In his murky chamber he awoke in surprise, his breath quaking as he sat straight up. Bloody hell. What a disturbing dream he’d experienced! His heart pulsed in his ears, like the echo of a thousand wild horses running toward freedom. Sweat dripped from his wrinkled forehead. He tried to remember all of this nightmare. Something strange, about a woman. Only…her image wasn’t vivid. He only knew he’d seen her there…that he attempted to make contact with her and she had disappeared. He lay down again, musing, inwardly interrogating himself. It had seemed so real! Slowly, his heart fluttered as he swayed back toward sleep.

Had he witnessed something, someone unearthly? He could only wonder.

As the dark hours slipped by, she traipsed the stone floor, watching, listening to his warm breath. She wished she could whisper the things in his ear he needed to hear, but, she could only wish. There was something that Lord William Whitman needed to address; and, he had not! A sudden tap at the door startled him and he sat up with a jolt. A heart beat of a thousand wild horses. He cleared his throat.

“Breakfast is ready, my lord,” the stunning but elder butler said, bobbing a faithful bow.

Bolshie had served Lord Whitman for years, and his father before him had served Lord Whitman’s father. It was his great honor, his destiny, though, he loathed the work load. And, though the hands of time had caused a few deep wrinkles, some silver strands in his black hair, and some crows feet, he was still extremely handsome.

“Thank you, Bolshie.” The gallant Duke shook his magnificent head. His ebony hair, which accentuated his fierce blue eyes, swayed to the side and rested evenly above his right brow. He was a firmly built man, broad, tan chest, each muscle in his scrumptious body well toned and tightened. A castle in the sky to most, especially the young ladies.

The first light of morning stung his ambitious eyes and pierced his temples; at least it appeared so. He placed a hand on his brawny chest and yawned, imagining the exciting evening to come. There was much to do.

The Whitman Masquerade was to be on this eve, at eight o’clock, he needed to prepare. Not that he had much work to do: the Duke was already quite charming. But, his dreadful night had caused puffiness beneath his wary eyes. It simply would not do, nor would it impress the lady he aimed to please. Not a lady like Ann Windsor. She would require a man of high maintenance.

No matter, he had firm intentions of finding a suitable mate, a woman of elegance and power, a noble beauty, hopefully.

He had been informed of Lady Ann Windsor’s intention to attend the ball and he couldn’t wait to lay his hungry eyes on her. Looking wishful, he imagined her there. He also imagined what a tragedy the night might become if he didn’t hurry into town, where he had planned to have his coat perfectly tailored to match Ann’s gown. However, it only needed a hem repair. How exquisite it would look! How delicious she would look!

Lady Windsor wasn’t easily intimidated, or impressed, by any means. William knew this well. He yearned to please her…only, he wasn’t sure how. Perhaps his appearance was the best place to start! Bellowing sternly, he called for Bolshie, and his loyal maid, Jillian, who’d been scrubbing the window.

Bolshie gulped. “Oh dear.”

Jillian rolled her sharp eyes and shrugged, casting a keen eye on Bolshie. She loved the old chump, though, she found that his whining annoyed her.

“He is the master.”

“Yes, I know.”

They climbed the mahogany stairs to William’s bedchamber. And they bowed a slight curtsy once inside the room.

“You called, my lord?”

“I expect your work will be completed on time today,” he told them, as they stood before him, with their hands locked in front of them. Not that they feared him; they respected him and felt privileged.

“I shall be going into town but everything must be perfect once I return!”

“Yes, my lord,” they both promised.

“I shall notify the hackney, my lord,” Jillian said, shining the Duke’s chestnut writing desk as she did each morning. It was one of his most prized possessions. One of his late father’s prized possessions. A desk no other servant was allowed to touch. Instead of feeling burdened by this Jillian was honored to know he trusted her.

He thanked them and rushed to slip on his trousers, pistol and finely-stretched shirt. He extended his gallant chest, admiring his mannish profile in the brass, ornate mirror. Sharp sapphire eyes, which he’d inherited from his handsome father, and the silken hair of his mother, any woman would kill to touch. He stood about six feet, two inches, but his lankiness was the weakest of his charming features. He was superlative. Splendidly fit for Lady Ann. At least, he thought so.

If Ann would oblige him one dance, one chance for closeness, he could prove his unyielding infatuation for her. He could make her love him! This he believed with all inspiration. He shot a glance at the oak wall clock, left to his father by his grandfather, then to him, always meant so much. With anticipation nipping him, he listened.

Tick…Toc…Tick!

Time was passing, too much time.

An hour had come and gone quickly, almost unbelievably swift! He aimed his gaze at the flowering orchids, pleasantly lining the granite courtyard. They were perfectly paired in his love struck eyes. The way the sun’s golden glow sparkled across their tips, their soft petals, their ability to steal a man’s focus, it all reminded him of Lady Windsor. Elegant and beautiful she was. It would be impossible to denounce her, or deny his feelings for her.

Contrary to reason.

From his gawking stance near the window, he could hear the amble trots of the horses swiftly approaching. He drew in a hard breath, anticipating her presence. His fluctuating heart hammered, not his pulse, only his needy heart. The hour was noon but he felt it should be later. He cleared his throat, tapping his jacket to confirm having his pocket pistol. A noble man, in a carriage made an easy target for thieves, who roamed the forest, and this was the fastest route into town. I will urge the coachman to hurry, he thought, I will watch at all times.

Yes. His fear of robbery taunted him, particularly because of numerous reports. Many good men had met their death in those woods, some had barely escaped with their lives, and William didn’t want to be the next on the list.

Bolshie knocked at the door. “The carriage has arrived, my lord.”

Lord Whitman blew out a heavy sigh, inclining his head to thank the handsome butler. Then he rushed out, hat in hand, and his thoughts still on Ann. Slumping his broad shoulders, he took a seat inside the hackney coach. He could not bare to put more time between him and Ann. He needed to relax and he tucked away his concern, waving goodbye to the servants.

“We must hurry, driver!”

“Yes, my lord!” The silver-haired driver goaded the horses, waving the reins, with fury. “Get up!”

Never rush a driver!

Right?…It could only mean tragedy.

No matter, William only thought of Ann. In fact, he could not prevent himself from picturing her, constantly. At the first sight of her he swelled with hope, adoration and uncontrollable desire. It wasn’t loneliness that caused it all either. It was more. It was the magnetism between them, the electricity in his heart when they first met. That’s what lured him.

Inside the carriage, William found it challenging to hold his sharp eyes open, and he’d began to lower his finely shaped chin. He drifted into a deep sleep, as the sun took refuge behind the gray clouds. The sky was sullen and looked almost unearthly for daylight. Repeated caterwauls reverberated throughout the thick woods, frightening the coachman, raising hairs on his wrinkled neck. The desperate cries of hungry wolves startled him more, and he sped up.

“Get on now,” he told the horses.

The carriage wheels, which he strained, crumbled fallen branches along the road, and bounced repeatedly, but William did not wake. He did not move, at all, until sundown that is. And, he was alarmed when he finally woke into the darkness, and found the coach abandoned at the wood’s, uncanny edge. And, he was inside it still. With a nervous jolt, he sprung up and climbed out. He strode onto the roadway, which was cloaked with fallen leaves, moving his wide eyes one to another. He was dazed and a bit dizzy.

His breath awoke.

“Driver?”

No reply.

William scrolled the surroundings with his eyes, hoping, just hoping he was dreaming. He saw no one. And, he heard no voices. Nothing but fear troubled him now. The silence was torture. The horses were missing and so was the speedy driver. He scanned the carriage. A missing wheel, and a busted frame was obvious. He thought, we must have been robbed, but where is the coachman?

Bloody hell! God in heaven…what had happened? He thought of screaming, crying out for help, but he was cautious. What if the assailant, or assailants, heard him, he wondered. What if they returned to finish him off? The idea alarmed him and he wasn’t going to hang around there any longer.

With the driver surely missing, William stiffened his stance, and hurriedly warbled onward, motivating his steps. His hand clinched his pistol but his knees were weak. He could feel exhaustion creeping up on him, making him weaker with each passing second. He continued on the road toward his home. Every other second, he glanced over his shoulders, looking around peculiarly. Then, he remembered what he’d set out to do, and he cursed.

“Damn it!”

This meant he would be forced to enter the ball without his flamboyant jacket, literally under-dressed, toned down to shame. He had set his heart on impressing her, lady Windsor. Now he’d baffle guests. What would they all think of him then? What about Ann? Cowardly, he thought, they’ll all think me weak when they learn what happened. They’d find him foolish and flimsy. Ann’s impression of him would be nothing, but a scanty one. Perhaps, this was his biggest fear.

Sweat drizzled from his flushed cheeks and his frightful paranoia rippled chills against his spine. The forest was grim, murky and eerily quiet for this hour of night. The wind keened around him Horrid images danced in his head, like his envisioning of the wolves, consuming him. What a horrible way for a man to die! He snaked a hand in his coat, pulling out his English Fusee watch. Oh dear, he thought, the hour is now eight!

“I am late!”

His pace quickened.

Then, the sounds of harmony…

Suddenly his racy heart hammered faster as the sounds of hooves, music and laughter seemed much closer. What a joyous noise! The marvelous Whitman Manor sat across the next hill. With heavy hearkening, William stopped to manage his rapid breath, laying his hands upon his knees, which grew weaker by the minute. He chuckled, deep and erratically. To think something strange had happened, and he could not determine what, it afflicted him. He assumed a robbery, and someone had possibly killed the coachman, but he couldn’t be sure. He could only guess. Straightening his spine, he raced over the hill, toward the house. His mind scrambled with uncanny suspicions. Locking eyes with Bolshie, who greeted the guests at the door, he screamed out…

“HELP!” His breath was short and dangerously rapid. “Bolshie…, help me!”

No recognition!

None, whatsoever.

Lord Whitman crept closer to him, as the cheery butler stood smiling by the entrance, as if he could not see, as if he did not hear his desperate cries. William shuffled toward the chuckling of a friendly coachman who’d parked to let out another guest.

“Excuse me good sir.”

No answer.

“I said, excuse me sir.” Hindrance gnawed at him.

Still, the driver ignored William.

Anger burned the earnest duke.

“What in heaven’s name?”

Once more, he muddled toward Bolshie, who seemed happier than usual. “You’re treading on thin ground,” William shouted. Frustration stole the color from his, once, joyful cheeks. He waved a hand in front of the clueless butler’s face. “Bolshie, I’m speaking to you. It would be wise to answer!”

He paused, and still, no answer…

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